


All Of Me

by FatyGSquare



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on an Evanescence (Band) Song, M/M, My Immortal - Freeform, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23883427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatyGSquare/pseuds/FatyGSquare
Summary: And I've held your hand through all of these yearsbut you still haveAll of me.
Relationships: Javier Fernández/Yuzuru Hanyu
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	All Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hi hello!! It's Yuzuvier Sob Fest time!!! No, seriously, I was listening to Evanescence for the last couple of days and thought Yuzu would be majestic skating to My Immortal. One thing led to the other and... here we are!!
> 
> This one is for ForeverDoesn'tExist, AKA the Angst Queen/Enabler (yes, I'm blaming you for this even though it's my own fault)
> 
> As always, English is not my first language, so the mistakes and typos are all mine, folks!
> 
> Enjoy! (?)

**_I’m so tired of being here_ **

**_Suppressed by all my childish fears_ **

Yuzuru looks longingly at the ice, his entire body vibrating with the sheer need of gliding across it. This stupid pattern of injuries is seriously challenging his mental health at this point. He knows it isn’t as bad as it was before the Olympics, thank the Heavens. But being unable to do what he loves, that which he believes he was born to do, is terrifying. 

Then, there is the looming notion of this being it. The last one his body can take, his last season.

He closes his eyes, trying not to think of everything negative, all the thing that could go wrong.

The unmistakable sound of blades cutting the ice as someone speeds past him rings loudly in his ears.

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know exactly who that someone is.

And isn’t it pathetic, that he can recognize _him_ by sound alone? That he can tell the exact moment _he_ launches into that infuriatingly beautiful quad Salchow?

Fuck, he’s hopeless.

**_And if you have to leave_ **

**_I wish that you would just leave_ **

**_‘Cause your presence still lingers here_ **

**_And it won’t leave me alone_ **

It aches and stings and burns. It is downright excruciatingly painful to be taken into _his_ arms again, to know it is only temporary, to know _he_ will leave.

This is the last time they will share this place he has come to call a second home, that both of them have. It is the last time they will warm up side by side, so perfectly synchronized, pair skaters would be jealous. The last time they will help each other up, and joke around and make Brian’s head fume with their antics.

When the day finally arrives, he isn’t there to hug _him_ goodbye, or wish _him_ all the best. To give _him_ one last encouraging handshake. Instead, he curls underneath his blankets, trying to keep his sobbing quiet so no one can hear him crying his heart out, crying for something he cannot lose because he never had it.

The next time he steps foot on the ice, mindful of his ankle, it hits him like a ton of bricks. _He_ is gone. _He_ will not come back anymore.

And yet, _he_ is still around. In the locker no one dares to take out of respect, in the silly and chipped mug still sitting next to the coffee pot.

_He_ is there in the red, yellow and red of _his_ flag, hanging where it has been for so long. He really wishes he could reach up and rearrange them, so they could be side by side, just like they used to.

_**These wounds won’t seem to heal** _

_**This pain is just to real** _

_**There’s just too much that time cannot erase** _

There is something so powerful in the crowd that day, so solemn. Even from half the way across the world, he can sense it. Even through the screen of his laptop, he can feel the electricity and emotion racing through everyone’s veins when the last notes ring in the arena and that is it.

The end.

_His_ end.

He doesn’t care he is crying, he doesn’t care that the door is opened or that his mother is home. He applauds, sobbing and wiping the snot off with his sleeve.

There’s a hollow space in his chest, where his heart should be. He cannot tell if it’s beating too fast to register or if it has stopped completely. The moment the scores are out and the little number one shines like a beacon next to _his_ name, he loses what little composure he had left.

It is so similar, he thinks, the way he breaks down when the announcer calls _his_ name. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, torn between covering his tear-stricken face and clapping. Suddenly, he is transported back to their last time, when his emotions were out for everyone to see. When he had dropped to the lowest of lows from the highest of highs.

And wow, isn’t it just ridiculous, the amount of power _he_ unknowingly holds over him? Isn’t it ridiculous how his heart still shatters into a million tiny pieces when he remembers the words that, despite been spoken in a crowd, he knows were just meant for him?

It fucking hurts.

_**When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears** _

_**When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears** _

_**And I’ve held your hand through all of these years** _

_**But you still have** _

_**All of me** _

_He_ was always the stronger one, at least in front of a camera. They have never seen _him_ crying or upset, taking results and criticism as they came, with a nod or a shrug of _his_ shoulder.

He had felt very uncomfortable the first time, when he had walked in on _him_ silently crying over a terrible session, sitting on the bench in the locker room with _his_ head hidden in _his_ arms. But after that first day, he had learnt how to quietly support _him_.

A handshake, a paper tissue, a smile.

He had woken up startled, frantically looking around for the source of the screaming, his heart beating a thousand beats per minute. Panic had started brewing in him until he realized that no, he was not in a crumbling rink and no, the ice was not shattering beneath his feet. He looked to the left, to the bed on the other side and saw the other tossing and turning, clearly having a bad dream. He never mentioned it to the other, but in the few instances they had to share a room, when _he_ would shout and whimper in _his_ dreams; he would go over to _his_ bed and put his hand on _his_ forehead, gently pushing back _his_ unruly hair.

It was something so undeniably theirs, the hugging and touching and being close to each other. Most people around them believed the hugs were everything, and while they certainly felt like the safest place in the world, it is having _his_ hand in his that would sometimes makes his knees wobble. _His_ hands are visibly bigger than his, and the way they fit, with _his_ thumb gently pressing his pulse point, is enough to make him follow wherever he wants.

And still, even with the thousands of kilometers between them, and the lack of communication, he would give it all up for _him_ in a second.

He should have given it all up for _him_ , back when he still could.

_**You used to captivate me** _

_**By your resonating light** _

_**But now I’m bound by the life you left behind** _

A moth to the flame, that’s the best way to describe his behavior. _He_ would shine and shine, and he was irrevocably drawn to _him_. Not like he would want it any other way. There is something so precious in _his_ smile, so good and pure despite all the shit _he_ has gone through. He likes to think _he_ never wore crystals or rhinestones because, even with no lights around _him_ , _he_ shined brighter than any star.

It pulls him in, much to his utter despair, every time he sees _his_ face. A video or a photograph. That is all he has now. And it’s fake, they are fake, just an impression on a screen or paper.

But if so, why is he still following? Why is he still drawn to _him_ , with all distance between them?

**_Your face it haunts_ **

**_My once pleasant dreams_ **

**_Your voice it chased away_ **

**_All the sanity in me_ **

It is late, the dark skies outside covered in thick clouds, soft rain drizzling over the city. He should be sleeping, should be recharging his body for eight hours like he does every day.

And yet, he cannot bring himself to. Not when he had let his imagination run wild, towards scenarios he knows are damn near impossible. But he couldn’t help it, and now he finds himself on his hands and knees, three long and slender fingers buried inside him to the knuckles, his phone shining brightly from the pillow. He closes his eyes and focuses on the images his brain keeps providing.  How _he_ would look taking him, the way _his_ strong and handsome features would twist with pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. The way _his_ voice would call his name, raspy and raw, a fervent plea while he calls for _him_ over and over and over, until they are both crushing down and burning through their climax. Strong, pulsing, blinding.

He is no stranger to this imaginary moments. He is no stranger to the way his name spoken in _his_ voice ricochets in his head while he thrusts his fingers faster, all presence of mind gone. Just a body searching the highest physical satisfaction.

His arm gives out and he falls to the bed, fingers still inside, release messy and sticky on his abdomen.

And all the while, all he can hear is _his_ voice calling his name.

Is this what they call insanity? And if it is, why does it feel so damn good? 

_**I’ve tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone** _

_**But though you’re still with me** _

_**I’ve been alone all along** _

It’s back to training, back to perfecting his body for the new challenges ahead. He has to get ready for the new season, needs to be in shape to reclaim all that once was his and more.

It starts in September, and it is beautiful, until that damned jump fails him and he wants to scream and shout and throw a tantrum. It should no longer be _his_ jump, _he_ was gone. Gone and done with podiums and medals and all being a competitive athlete entails.

Gone, _he_ is gone.

_He_ needs to be gone from his mind, as well. He has learnt how to quiet his heart over the years, how to focus on the quest ahead. He wants to snatch that gold, he must ensure he is on top.

He wants to, needs to, must, has to.

And then, there _he_ is, flesh and bone. Walking, talking, breathing; no longer a fragment of his imagination, or a blurry picture on his screen.

Except, it’s not the same, is it? There is a hesitation when they hug, a shadow that crosses _his_ face when _he_ smiles. He thinks nothing of it, deciding it is best to focus on the competition ahead.

It fails him, yet again, but he manages. There is a gold medal around his neck again and it feels good, so good.

Then another gold, then another, and he basks in the awed murmurs around him, in all the voices saying 'he is back'. It all comes to a screeching stop in December, with a silver in the one place he had wanted to win at the most. With another silver in the place he had craved to return to the most. And with the heartbreaking knowledge that there is someone new taking the place he wanted.

And isn’t it ironical, that they share so much? Country, language, culture, the man they love.

_**And I’ve held your hand through all of these years** _

_**But you still have** _

_**All of me** _

It is frightening, to see _him_ again like this, after so much has changed. Not just with themselves, but with the entire world. Everything was different now, the way people treated each other, the way they went about their days. Even for him, always so stuck in his own routine.

It had been the rising number of sickness and death that had made him spiral out of control, and scare his family out of their minds, when he managed to trigger an asthma attack watching the news. Tens of thousands of people sick, thousands of people dead. _His_ city, the most affected.

He still doesn’t know where he found the courage to make the call, how he avoided biting his nails right off his fingers. But he remembers the shuddering breath of relief he let out when _he_ answered _his_ phone, the soft chuckle at the other end, the painful but sincere _‘I’m okay’_. It is new and unexplored territory they venture into after that first call, awkward and shy at first, opening up more with each day that goes by, as the dark circles under _his_ eyes grow, but _his_ smile never falters.

It is a random night, nothing special about it, just another end to another day stuck home without anywhere to go. But it shakes him to the core, the soft voice as _he_ thanks him for things he didn’t know _he_ knew. For watching over _him_ when _he_ had nightmares, for that bottle of water that was never empty, for that tight grip in _his_ hand.

_He_ confesses then, voice quivering and failing _him_ , raw with emotion, as _he_ tries to convey everything _he_ feels. How wrong it had been all the way back when they met, when he was still a kid. How forbidden it had felt every time _he_ would sneak a glance at his body. How selfish _he_ had been for taking and taking.

He laughs, not believing what he hears. Take and take? _Him_? The one person who had always had his back, who had never allowed him to believe his own legend, who had kept him anchored, who would always smile at his triumph even if it meant a defeat for _him_.

And he says as much, tells _him_ all that _he_ is to him.

His helping hand, his encouraging smile, the safe haven he finds in his arms. The excitement of a first love, the pain of thinking it will never bloom, the hope of each shared moment.

He tells _him_ now, when they are allowed to see each other face to face again, hug again, be themselves again. And kisses _him_ like he had always wanted to, melting in _his_ arms. 

Safe, protected, loved.

The same things he hopes _he_ knows _he_ has.

Everything.

_Javier_ will always have all of Yuzuru.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Hated it? Need tissues? Lemme know what you think!!


End file.
